


Adventures

by Scarylady



Series: Secret Service [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:18:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarylady/pseuds/Scarylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Six of the Secret Service series:<br/>Aedan and Zev are determined that Alistair should take the plunge and enjoy others.</p><p>Contains both slash and het, D/s and group play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures

 

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

The array of keys laid out before Alistair were each adorned with a ribbon; some black and some white. He hesitated, looking down at them.

Everyone else was waiting for him - as the newcomer, and honoured guest, he had first pick.

He looked up, straight into Zevran’s molten golden gaze.  _Dear Maker, this isn’t me. I’d rather just_ … Rather just curl up with Zev and Aedan in their room; share a bath and a bottle of wine. What once seemed so extraordinary had now become homely and domestic.

His lovers had different ideas. 

 _  
“You must learn to enjoy others_ , amore mio, _as we do,”_ said his padrone. “The world is filled with pleasure and we wish you to experience it all.”

Aedan had worded it more bluntly, _“You need to fuck around – at least try it, and see if you enjoy it. Or, the first time both of us disappear on a bender, you’ll go insane with jealousy.”_

It had been a cold shock of reality; his lovers weren’t just his, they still intended to sleep with others. He could either be a part of that, or sit at home waiting for them. So, as he had shied away from the question when asked who he fancied, they’d arranged a little play-party instead.

Black keys for men, white for women. It was wildly improbable that a black key should be the one that felt the easiest and most comfortable option, but it did. On the other hand, did he really want to sleep with any other men than the ones he had? Or would he just constantly wish that this unknown man, currently sat in a room upstairs waiting to see who walked through the door, was Zev?

“Everyone is waiting, _caro_.” Zev’s gentle reminder was unnecessary; Alistair was excruciatingly aware of their gaze on him. Without allowing himself to think about it any longer, he seized a white key at random and fled, heading for the corridor of locked bedrooms devoted to this game.

When Alistair reached the correct door, matching the number inked on the ribbon, his hand shook slightly, so that the key rattled in the lock. The only woman he had slept with was his wife, lying cold and unresponsive below him. The lesson in pleasing a woman that he’d received on Isabella’s writhing, gasping body would be a big help, but still the idea of having to perform with a stranger made his belly squirm with nerves.

As the door swung open all he could immediately see was the fireplace, chill and empty on this warm summer night, and the warm glow of the lamps hung on the walls. Alistair took a tentative step into the room, turning his head towards the big bed where a voluptuous figure knelt naked and unashamed, eagerly inspecting him.

“Woohoo, I hit the jackpot!” Sigrun’s voice was as bright and cheerful as her smile; utterly unreserved. “Get those clothes off and get _over_ here!”

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Having only seen them clothed, Alistair hadn’t realised just how curvy dwarven women were. If this was an hourglass figure, then he reckoned it would be two hours before you had to turn her over. Her face and the pigtailed hair were almost childish, despite the complex tattoos, but lush breasts and flaring hips framed a tiny waist, while short muscular legs flexed as she bounced excitedly on the bed.

 _  
Wow.   
_

Her breasts were also bouncing.

“C’mon, what’re you waiting for?” She sprung off the bed and trod lightly over to him, blue eyes twinkling with glee. “Need some help?” Nimble little fingers reached for Alistair’s clothes and he took an involuntary step back, stumbling slightly. To catch his balance he reached out, and his hands closed on bare shoulders not much higher than his waist. “Mm, that’s better.” She snuggled in, biting playfully at his belly through his thin shirt. Strong teeth tugged at the fabric, pulling it from his waistband before releasing it. “If you like, I can remove this with my mouth, but you’ll have to kneel down.”

Considering what kneeling meant to Alistair, this was _not_ something he wanted. He pulled himself together and stripped the shirt off, far less bothered by his own nakedness than he used to be. Sigrun cooed happily at the expanse of muscle he exposed, running her small hands over his stomach and chest before swiftly unbuttoning his trousers.

Her skin was really soft. Male skin could be beautifully silky, but it wasn’t _soft_. One of his hands moved in tentative exploration, sweeping up her shoulder to her throat and from there to her cheek. She nuzzled into it, busy fingers engaged in stripping off his trousers. Her dark tattoos made her facial skin look rough, but it wasn’t; it too was smooth and soft.

Trousers and underwear were pulled down together, and a second dove-like noise sounded not merely happy, but also quite impressed.   Alistair stepped out of the puddle of cloth, quite surprised to find that he wasn’t blushing – it seemed that, at some point when his attention was elsewhere, nudity has ceased to be such a problem. It also appeared he wasn’t going to have any problem adapting back to feminine charms; his cock was registering considerable interest in this irrepressible bundle of curves.

He realised that he hadn’t actually said a word since he’d walked in. Was he meant to say hello? Compliment her? Alistair was accustomed to only speaking when given permission, but the etiquette of _this_ situation escaped him. He could only immediately think of one thing that absolutely couldn’t be wrong, so he bent down, dipped his head to her level and kissed her.

Her lips were soft and she kissed with the same enthusiasm she brought to everything else; her quick tongue exploring his mouth while her hands latched around his neck. Height difference was going to prove a definite problem for as long as they were vertical; he was getting a kink in his back already.  _Bed, that’s the thing. Now, how to get her over there?_  Picking her up and carrying her - although the easiest answer – could be a total breach of etiquette with dwarves; Alistair had no real way of knowing.  _It certainly wasn’t something I was told about on the royal visit to Orzammar._

Sigrun saved him from this well of agonising indecision by breaking the kiss and tugging imperatively on his hand. Thankfully, Alistair followed her bed-ward, relieved to have bypassed this obstacle. Safely ensconced on this comfortable playground, Sigrun wasted no time in pushing him onto his back and beginning a thorough exploration of her prize.

“Mmm, muscle.” Her hands roamed over him appreciatively.   Blue eyes crinkled at him, “I didn’t expect you to be so toned; don’t you have to sit around a lot, listening to people talk?”

“Um, sometimes, but I… ah!” Apparently it had been a rhetorical question; her hands were still wandering, but her mouth had dipped to taste him, licking a slow stripe from root to tip. This was crazy, he was no innocent virgin, yet somehow the touch of a woman’s tongue made it feel like the first time again. He supposed that, in a way, it was – the first time he’d lain in bed with a willing and enthusiastic female lover.

If she carried on the way she was though, he was _not_ going to last and the thought of ejaculating so early, like an eager teenager, brought burning embarrassment and a determination to take control of the situation. Superior size and strength worked to his advantage, allowing him to flip their positions with ease and leaving full, buoyant breasts directly in his line of sight.

They really were very enticing, and dropping his mouth to one was the work of an instant. A moderate amount of pleasant effort with lips and tongue and teeth was repaid with pleased hums and soft sighs. Resisting a boyish urge to bury his face between them, Alistair instead followed the advice instilled into him by Zevran:    
_  
see how she responds to both nipples at once; for some women it will provide twice the pleasure, for others perhaps as much as ten times the pleasure…    
_   
The addition of a thumb and forefinger rubbing one nipple while his tongue flicked over the other brought a marked increase in the sounds of enjoyment emanating from Sigrun. It also prompted a more pro-active response. Too short by far to reach his cock with either groin or hands when his head was buried in her breasts, however hard she tried, she instead settled for what was in reach; one hand tugging on Alistair’s hair while the other scraped over his back. Her tongue flickered around his ear with more enthusiasm than skill; he realised for the first time just how spoilt he was, accustomed to the hands and mouths of vastly experienced partners.

But there was much more to this opportunity than the ministrations of a skilled lover; Alistair allowed his mouth to roam lower, drawn by the alluring musk of feminine arousal. 

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

After so much time spent ‘in the saddle’ as it is commonly said, Zev had been delighted to draw a lover who required him to make no decisions at all. One, in fact, who would be severely displeased if he did.

When Aedan had taken over Vigil’s Keep and explored its various levels and sublevels, rooms both public and private, it had quickly become apparent that Rendon Howe’s tastes had been… exotic, even by the standards of the new Warden Commander and his Antivan lover.   For the former Arl the mix of pleasure and pain had been clear-cut and definitive: the pleasure was all his, the pain was to be felt by others. Concepts such as willingness and consent were routinely swept aside as irrelevant, together with frivolities like preservation of life and limb.

Aedan’s first batch of newly-minted Wardens had witnessed the clearing of the Arl’s most private rooms, the removal of bones, corpses and rotten body parts. Not that Rendon Howe had been an untidy man, but the end of his tenure as Arl had come swiftly and the Keep had then been left unoccupied for nine months or so. Loose ends had been left.   In some cases they had been left to die, forgotten.

As Zevran well knew, one of Aedan’s greatest regrets was that he hadn’t prevented Nathaniel from participating in the clearance of those rooms. At the time, the Warden Commander had been enraged at the younger Howe’s utter disbelief regarding his father’s behaviour, and more than happy to let him see the evidence of Rendon Howe’s depravity first-hand. 

It was two years before they began to realise exactly what Nathaniel lost that day; not merely his illusions about his father but also a large piece of himself. It had taken almost another two years of patient effort to bring the young man to a point where he was able to admit his needs and accept that they did not make him like his father.   Like many nobles he was superficially uninhibited, showing no disapproval of the free and easy standards which obtained at the Vigil. This gave Aedan the opportunity he needed to try to put things right; careful strategies ensured that Nathaniel was faced with certain partners, or lured into specific rooms at the Vigil’s play parties. His defences were eroded over time, until the day came when Aedan walked into Nathaniel’s room and knelt before him. In an unusual display of humility, he had reached up and offered his fellow Warden a whip; _I’ve done you a terrible injustice_ , he said, _please allow me to put things right between us_.

It had been several days before Aedan could sleep face up or sit without a cushion - he had perceived it as a true punishment, not merely a pleasure, and therefore refused both healing and all but the simplest salves. The Commander had never regretted it for a second; confident that the results had been worth it. At this moment, Zevran wasn’t about to argue.

There‘s something peculiarly liberating about being tied by an expert, about knowing – beyond a shadow of a doubt – that you cannot escape your bonds. But add to this the sensation of being suspended face down in midair, shrouded in a thick blindfold, with only the ropes binding your shoulders, thighs and torso to support you… it was enough to make even Zevran sweat a little.

The almost imperceptible sounds of a naturally stealthy man moving in the space around him did nothing to diminish his nerves. 

“It’s been a while, Zevran.” Nathaniel’s voice was like the smoke that curled above the patrons of an Antivan coffee house. “It’ll be a pleasure to reacquaint myself with your renowned… resilience.”

The ominous undertones brought a flush of heat to Zevran’s groin, and the gentle scrape of the archer’s rough hand down his back and over the swell of his rump held the promise of an interesting evening.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Woman was his new favourite flavour. It was totally different from man; sweeter, lighter. The smell and taste of a man made Alistair’s knees give way; it dominated him, told him who was in charge.   The womanly juices in and around his mouth, on the other hand, appeared to be wired directly to his cock.   The more he licked, the more Sigrun squirmed and moaned, the more he wished to drive his aching length into her wet heat. But at the same time he was perfectly content right here - a woman was _enjoying_ what he was doing. Maker’s breath, _five years_ he’d been married and Maria had never so much as squeaked. Alistair was more than happy to lick and flick until his tongue ached, drunk on appreciation.

The squirming was becoming more frantic; in order to maintain contact, he was forced to hold onto her hips. The moans became gasps, mixed with increasingly frantic whispers. “ _Frigging Ancestors, yes… there, right there… oh, yes_!” While the flesh pressed against his mouth rippled, the cadence of her body changed to a rhythmic, repetitive thrust of hips and groin, as unstoppable as the tide. 

The message it sent was clear as day and he couldn’t resist its call; moving higher, Alistair pressed the head of his cock against that shifting, pulsating centre and began to ease in, a little fearful of harming her small body. Sturdy legs wrapped around his hips while determined hands snaked around his neck, pulling him forward. 

“C’mere.” 

 _  
Oh, Maker.   
_   
It had been months since he’d been sheathed in a woman, and even then she hadn’t been undulating around him. It was like being ingested by a ravenous snake, but in a good way. Sigrun’s heels and hands drove him to a strong rhythm, overcoming his natural hesitancy, and causing her to clench anew.

So hot… so wet… her muscles pulled on him as strongly as Zev’s mouth ever had, milking him and drawing him inexorably closer to orgasm. Alistair was dimly aware of hands in his hair, her cries muffled against his throat, but most of his attention was narrowly focussed on the pressure curling up nice and tight behind his balls. His cock stiffened further, the swelling of the head creating even more friction and he spasmed deep inside, the tension shattering. 

Sometime later, Alistair swam back to reality to find Sigrun grinning up at him. “Woo! That was fun. Wanna go again?”

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Every flinch, every twitch, created the possibility, the _probability_ of another; a chain reaction that would have a lesser man jiggling in constant painful motion, and which even Zev was finding a tad challenging.

Tiny clamps on his nipples were anchored to - the floor? A table? It was difficult to be sure in the depths of the blindfold - by thin, strong strings. Similar clamps were fastened to the delicate skin of his sac. Every movement pulled on them, causing exquisite pain.

Spiced oil, applied deep inside his anus and smeared on his glans, was enough to create a fair amount of involuntary squirming. For a time this had sufficed, providing a modicum of entertainment for the silent sadist who ghosted around the room. Even from within the blindfold, Zev could feel the other man’s eyes on him, watching for every reaction, every physical tell. 

“I don’t know which is more beautiful, Zevran; the way you dance, or the way you resist.” The mellow sound of Nathaniel’s voice was directly in front of him, above his head. Impossible that the man could get so close under normal circumstances, but the distracting sensations combined with the snug harness and blindfold disoriented Zev. 

Hot velvety flesh brushed his cheek, the scent of a man’s desire strong in his nostrils. “Would you like to kiss this, Zevran?”

“Yes, Nathaniel.” The ex-noble disliked the use of honorifics; no ‘ser’ or ‘master’ was permitted in his rooms. He demanded only a clear respectful answer and the use of his name.

“A half-hearted response, at best. I believe you require some encouragement.”   The space occupied by Nathaniel was suddenly empty, air circulating freely around Zev’s head.  He stared blindly down into the blindfold, tilting his head to track the movements of the man around him, but was foiled by a slight push on the taut ropes. The resultant sway and the pull of the clamps sidetracked him, making his breath hiss through his teeth, so when the first small brand of pain lanced across his thigh it caught him by surprise. A cane of some sort, slender, whippy and vicious.  Zev’s involuntary flinch tugged at the clamps and he groaned.

The tip of the cane trailed lightly over his skin, threatening and promising in equal measures. It slid along the side of his groin, but the next flick landed on his belly, so close to the tip of his cock that Zev recoiled instinctively. The ropes that held him creaked and swayed, yanking once again on the leashed clamps, causing fast flashes of agony.  The cane slid away, and again it hit where it was least expected… and the next time… and the next.

Not since his Crow training had he met someone who could keep him off-balance as Nate did; the combination of small stinging pains and immense loss of control left Zevran shaking with desire. After a time, an assessing hand slid over his aching flesh and he bit down on a moan of longing.

“Are you feeling more enthusiastic, Zevran?” Smooth, slim wood pressed horizontally against his mouth; the cane, being presented for his submission. Zev pressed his lips to it with an unfeigned fervency that surprised him, even as he did so. A sharp slap to his cheek was all it gained him. “Very pretty, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, Nathaniel.”   Zevran tried to inject as much of his desire as possible into the two words. The cane was withdrawn; he kept his mouth soft, inviting, hoping for something more personal.

“And what is it that you are enthusiastic for?” The smoky voice was close above him, he could smell leather and oil and arousal.

“For you, Nathaniel. For whatever you wish to give me.” Zev meant every word; such a rare and precious thing, to be made to really mean it. Submission was too easily feigned, for a Crow.

Fingers wrapped in his hair, pulling up his head and heated silken skin touched his mouth. “An excellent answer, Zevran.   Show me how much.”

 _  
-oOo-   
_

A second bout of sexual gymnastics left Alistair sweaty and panting. Maker, Sigrun was energetic. And already she was knelt up on the bed, grinning at him, as though she hadn’t melted into a whimpering puddle only a few minutes ago.

“Bath time.” His eyes flicked to the empty stone bath in the corner and she shook her head, laughing. “No, not here. C’mon, grab a sheet or something, time to meet up with the others.” She wrapped a sheet, toga-style around herself, so that the tail of it hung over her shoulder and trailed down to the floor. A stubby finger poked Alistair, still caught on the back foot and sprawled on the bed. “Hurry up.”

He grabbed the other sheet, absurdly large for wrapping around a man’s waist, and enveloped himself in it. A small hand seized his and tugged him to the door, colder air rushing in from the hall when she opened it. The stone flags were even colder on their bare feet, forcing them to scurry. The other doors on the corridor were all open, white-tagged keys hanging in the locks. At the head of the staircase that adjoined the two corridors lounged Aedan, fully dressed and grinning.

“Are we the last?” asked Sigrun.

Aedan jerked his head towards the corridor of black-tagged doors. “Zev and Nate are still in there. I can safely leave them alone though, so I’ll come down with you. The day when I have to stand watch for Zev hasn’t dawned and probably never will.”

 _  
Zev and Nate.    
_   
Nathaniel was with his _padrone_.   A stab of jealousy shot through Alistair, making his face burn with shame. Ludicrous to be jealous when Aedan wasn’t at all bothered, and with Sigrun’s juices still clinging to his cock. The rest of Aedan’s comments finally sunk in and Alistair frowned, confused, as they pattered down the cold stone steps.

“Stand watch?”

“Uh-huh.” Aedan pushed open a door Alistair hadn’t noticed before and gestured for them to precede him. This corridor was mosaic tiled and significantly warmer, almost steamy. “For safety, one person always sits out. In case of accidents, or someone having the screaming heebies. Tonight it was my turn.”

“Isn’t that a bit rough on you?” It seemed terrible to Alistair; that Aedan should have to hang around while they all had fun.

Sigrun’s merry laugh matched Aedan’s wicked smirk. The dwarf scampered ahead of them, turning a corner; Alistair heard her squeal and a splash, just as Aedan answered him. “There are compensations. You’ll see.”

They turned the same corner and Alistair stopped dead, stunned both by the sight ahead of him and the cheer that reverberated around the room. The tub was huge, steaming and filled with naked bodies. There were maybe twenty or so men and women, all the ones who had been paired up in the rooms upstairs. Everyone was shouting and clapping and it took a moment for Alistair to realise that they weren’t looking at him, but behind him, to where Aedan was stripping off his clothes. Ribald comments and alluring gestures mixed with the cheers and laughter and Aedan’s grin was a mile wide.

A touch on Alistair’s shoulder made him jump. He realised he’d been frozen to the spot, staring at the bobbing breasts and gleaming chests in the lapping water. He turned to see Aedan smiling broadly, his teeth white. 

“Get in, Alistair.” 

The prospect of relinquishing the protection of his bedsheet in front of so many people made Alistair’s face burn. Thankful that most had their gaze focussed on Aedan - currently stripping off his trousers – he ditched the sheet at the very edge of the tub and stepped hurriedly in.

Once in the water, he felt a little safer, despite the press of unfamiliar bodies. A cheerful voice hailed him and a familiar blond waded across from the other side of the tub. 

“So, Sigrun got to play with the King’s sceptre, did she? Lucky girl. Anything I need to deal with?” Anders was looking him over with an experienced eye than made Alistair blush anew. This was the one person in the Wardens who had a good idea about the nature of his relationship with Zev and Aedan. Not merely that they were the King’s lovers - this was common knowledge here and, among the hardened cynics of the Vigil, had barely raised an eyebrow. Anders had, on occasion, healed the residual damage to his body, and was therefore privy to the _one_ secret they were determined to keep. 

“Not so much as a bite.” The healer frowned reproachfully at the dwarf, tucked between two brunette girls who Alistair vaguely recognised as part of the Vigil garrison. “Last time, you _covered_ me in bites.”

Sigrun giggled, peeping up at the mage with mischievous blue eyes. “You like it a bit rough. Alistair was sweet and gentle.”

Anders manfully resisted the urge to retort, although it looked like a struggle.   The appearance of Aedan in their midst distracted him. “Pay the Watcher!” Anders bellowed gleefully, wrapping his arms around the Commander’s neck.

Within seconds Aedan almost completely vanished from sight, only the top of his head visible. The nearest half a dozen people moved in on him immediately at Anders’ shout, pressing hands and mouths to his body, squirming against him in the churning water.

Alistair hung back, mouth agape, and a slender red-haired woman beside him explained. “The one who sits out, and looks after us, gets rewarded in the tub. We’ll all have the chance to join in.”

So it seemed. Those people who had surged forward first were lifting Aedan, supporting him to float atop the water, as others waded closer. The red-head seized Alistair’s hand, drawing him into the scrum.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Despite Zevran exercising every ounce of his not-inconsiderable skill, Nathaniel did not permit him to finish what he had begun. Instead, he called a halt sometime prior to orgasm, and set about lowering his prisoner to the ground. The blindfold and clamps were removed, leaving Zevran blinking in the low light, hissing between his teeth as the blood returned to constricted cells. Lacking any instruction, he remained in the same position, flat on his front, hard cock uncomfortably pressed against the cool wooden floor.

The ropes that formed the snugly fitting harness were left in place and, wound around the archer’s fist, formed a fairly effective set of reins. A pull on the ropes encouraged Zevran onto his hands and knees. “I’m sorely tempted to walk you down to the baths just like this, Zevran. I’d enjoy seeing the face of your new lover, when we entered the room.”

Zev was inordinately glad this had not been worded as a question. If an answer had been required, he would have been hard pressed to find a discreet choice that didn’t betray Alistair’s preferences. A tug on the ropes secured around his right shoulder and thigh turned him, providing instruction on the direction Nathaniel wished him to take.

Thankfully it was not towards the door, but in the direction of the large silvered floor-standing mirror in the corner.

“I wish we had a third.” Nathaniel’s tone was conversational, an utter contrast to the somewhat distorted image presented in the mirror – the crouched figure, securely harnessed, the ropes held fast in the hands of a slim, wiry man whose erect cock still jutted from within his opened trousers. 

“I’m wondering just how much control I can exercise with these ropes, and how responsive you are. Imagine having you spank someone based purely on my silent instruction.” Zevran had no difficulty at all imagining that, and his body pulsed in definite approval of the notion. Really, Nathaniel was _wasted_ as a Warden. He was born to be a Crow.

“No matter, let’s see how well you can interpret my wishes.” A slight tug upwards on the shoulder harness brought Zevran to his knees and a second pull encouraged him up until his body was vertical from knee to head. 

“Well done.” The ropes were shortened around the archer’s wrists, bringing him in close. A slow lick from lobe to tip of Zev’s right ear rewarded him for his obedience before the ropes were relaxed again. The assassin quivered, holding his shaking hands in front of his body out of old habit, hiding their reaction.

Not that it did any good; Nathaniel’s next move was to the right side, the left ropes hanging lax while the right were shortened. Tiny pulls urged his right arm forward and Zev complied hesitantly, unsure of the direction required.

“Stop.” All the ropes went loose as Nathaniel knelt to remove the harness from his thighs and waist. Complex knots slipped easily under his handler’s clever fingers, and the ropes were relocated to wrist and elbow.

“That’s much better.”

 _  
Better indeed_ , thought Zevran. His arms could now be guided through many variations, providing subtler commands for him to follow. The first such instruction coaxed his left arm across his body until his left hand hovered over his right nipple. Simultaneously, minute signals from his puppetmaster directed his right hand to his cock.

A show then, for the director of their little theatre. Sensitive to the commands, Zev stroked himself softly, tweaked his nipple hard, his eyes burning into those of his tormentor through the rippling silvered image. There was no softness in Nathaniel’s lean dark visage, his pleasure visible only in the hard flesh protruding from dark cloth. A flick of the rope on his right wrist Zevran interpreted as a demand for speed and he quickened his movements.

The left ropes went slack, dropped to the floor, and a hard hand smacked down on his bottom. “Wrong.” Another smack and another. “And you still touch your nipple, Zevran. Are you instructed to?” Zev dropped his left hand to his side, but the punishment continued, hard and fast. Another tug on the right wrist, difficult to interpret, particularly when being spanked at full belt with no respite, no restraint.   Zevran tightened his grip on his cock, stroking faster, gasping at the nearness of orgasm, but that didn’t seem to be right either. The spanking continued, the blows almost too fast to count, the archer half crouched at his side to reach his target whilst manipulating the ropes. Another flick at the wrist and also a tiny, previously unnoticed, tug on the elbow, almost lost in the sting and burn of his _culo_. Zev swung his arm out away from his cock, towards the mirror and the spanking stopped immediately. The next instruction pulled him back, so he slapped his own hard flesh.

He received no punishment other than that of self, indicating the puppeteer’s approval. Back and forth at the insistence of the ropes, he was commanded to spank his own cock. Again and again his hand smacked, until his cock felt swollen and the distorted image in the mirror told him it had darkened.   The sensation, tied to the remote, unfeeling implementation, was almost too much, only sheer willpower fighting back the surge of pressure. 

The ropes stilled, and when his hand didn’t drop quickly enough, it provoked another pair of hard spanks. “A pity about that, you were doing so well.” Zev couldn’t answer; all his attention was focussed on not coming without permission, the pressure behind his balls so intense he thought he’d explode. By force of will he kept his eyes open, locked upon those of the man in the mirror, now moving into his line of sight. The silvery shimmer disappeared from view, obscured by dark cloth and heated, musky flesh almost exactly at the level of his mouth.

“You’re panting, Zevran.” Sardonic amusement tinged the smoky voice. “I imagine you’d like to come soon, wouldn’t you?”

“ _Sì_ , Nathaniel, _prego_.” 

A slap across the face, hard and fast, making his cock leap. 

“In Fereldan.”

“I am sorry. Yes, Nathaniel, please.” Zev heard the fervent pleading in his own voice, simultaneously loving and hating it. All his training screamed that he should not be truly reduced to this state, ever. But over the years the bonds of his Crow youth had loosened, and the soaring freedom this engendered was as glorious as the flight of the big black bird itself.

Nathaniel’s rigid cock was rubbed against his face. “Suck me slowly. If I come too soon, then you will not come at all.”

Zev eagerly took the silken head in his mouth, cradling it loosely on his tongue. Without hands, to suck softly and slowly was more difficult than hard and fast, but in this he was confident. Or he was, until his first gentle stroke up the velvet shaft, when the ropes on both his hands tugged insistently, guiding him back to his previous work.

Again his hands smacked down on his heavy engorged flesh, right and left in rotation this time. The pace was quick, far faster than the gentle pull of his mouth on Nathaniel’s cock, and threatened constantly both to spill him over the edge, and to draw his mouth into a faster rhythm than was wise. If Nathaniel came too fast, Zev knew that he would be allowed no release and had little doubt that other fiendish tortures also awaited.    

He was close, _too close_ , a frantic noise choked in his throat, an incoherent plea for mercy while he slurped and licked as languorously as his frenzied need allowed. Still his hands beat down on his over-sensitised skin, while he turned his eyes up in anguished, desperate prayer to the cool, grey ones of the man looming over him, who tugged gently on the ropes wrapped around his fingers.

An eternity, which may only have been a second, passed before Nathaniel nodded. “You may make me come. Quickly now.”

Thankfully, Zev engulfed the thick, solid prick in his mouth, taking it all, sucking hard and drawing the suction up the shaft. He used little finesse; he must make Nathaniel come and do so quickly, before his own aching cock succumbed. Still the ropes flicked, and still his hands slapped in response, but he couldn’t take any more. Each slap may be one too many. It was with relief that he heard Nathaniel’s breathing quicken, and with joy that he heard the sweetest words ever, despite their harsh, clipped tone.

“You may touch yourself. You may come.”

The ropes went slack, dropped so that Nathaniel could grip his shoulders, fingers digging in with ruthless disregard. For the first time the archer was losing control, coming apart under the strong pull of Zev’s mouth, while the assassin wrapped grateful fingers around his tender throbbing cock.

“Sweet Andraste.” The words were whispered - the first Nathaniel had uttered with passion - a mere second before his release hit the back of Zev’s throat hard.   Zev’s own orgasm hit like an ogre, taking his breath away with its power and grandeur. He swallowed bitter salt and Nathaniel withdrew, freeing Zevran to respond with all the incoherence his long-awaited climax merited.

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

Alistair’s stomach was churning almost as much as the water. The sight of Aedan, lying cradled between so many naked bodies, foam skimming over his chest and legs, was certainly stirring… but-

 _  
I don’t think I can do this.   
_

He couldn’t see Aedan’s face, couldn’t meet his eye to express his discomfort; too many heads were bent over his friend, kissing him, licking at his wet skin. Alistair stood upright in the chest-high water, in the spot to which he had been pulled and hustled by many hands. He was between Aedan’s outstretched legs, faced with his lover’s erection and everyone who wasn’t already busy paying the Watcher was watching _him_.

They had taken it for granted he would want to do this, that he would want to be first.

The honoured guest was being offered the tastiest cut at the feast.

 _  
I don’t think I can.   
_

Alistair didn’t know how long he’d been standing here – too long it seemed; there was laughing, encouragement, slow clapping like a drum roll ushering in the star act.

“Come on, your dinner’s getting cold!”

“Pay the Watcher. Come on, we’ve all done it.”

“Half of us will tonight, too - until he begs us to stop!”

It was too _much_ , didn’t they understand? He wasn’t _like_ this. And yet, even as the thoughts flickered through his mind, other whispers said different.  _Aren’t you? That’s not exactly an unfamiliar cock, is it? Anyway, a couple of months ago you walked into an orgy of your own free will, what did you expect it to be like?_

The tumult around him was growing, forming into a chant that grew louder with every second: “Paay UP! Paay UP!” Alistair moistened his lips, the fear a cold weight in his belly. For the first time he wanted to say his safeword, but this wasn’t a game with Zev and Aedan; he couldn’t make this stop with a single word. There were so many of them, how could he do this? There were so _many_ of them, how could he stop it, at this stage? He could see Anders, directly across from him, Aedan’s blond head propped on his chest. The healer was looking straight at Alistair, pale brown eyes concerned, his mouth forming a question. There was no way to hear it, not over the cacophony in the tub; the chant was bouncing off tiled walls, multiplying in the enclosed space.   Alistair tried to back away, but there was a wall of bodies behind him, wet skin rubbing against his, legs tangled below the water as they all sought for balance in the churning depths. 

The words finally made it up through his closed throat. “No, I can’t!” He couldn’t hear them, so it was unlikely that anyone else did. It felt like the moment when he’d been crowned; a trap closing around him with no way out.

A commotion behind him, the water breaking on either side as a body pushed through, and then there was Zev’s arm around his waist, Zev’s solid unbreakable calm surrounding him, and Zev’s comforting voice, very close to his ear. “Come, _caro_. Come with me.”

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

He was furious with Aedan. He was furious with himself.   Making Aedan the Watcher tonight had seemed like a good idea – if Alistair had bolted from one of the rooms, then it was best that someone he trusted was on duty. It hadn’t occurred to either of them that this situation could occur, that their sweet gentle boy could be left in such a predicament with no-one to support him. Zevran cursed himself for lingering so long over his own pleasures, he should have been there early, should have sat out _completely_ to ensure that Alistair was safe.

Dry and warm, wrapped in thick dressing robes, the two of them were propped up on pillows, Alistair’s head on Zev’s chest, slim fingers running through damp red-gold hair.

“I am sorry, _amore mio_ , this was entirely my fault.”

Alistair sighed, the little gust ruffling under the edge of Zev’s robe. “No, no it isn’t. I realised in there, in that moment. I walked into this; I walked into an _orgy_ , Zev, all those weeks ago. What was I expecting? I was lucky not to face this the first night.”

Zevran huffed, mildly exasperated, and grasped Alistair’s chin, turning his face up to meet his eyes. “ _Dolcezza_ , even at an orgy one does not usually have to perform in front of such an audience. No, you should not have been plunged into such a pressured situation. I should have been there to prevent it, to hold you back, to allow you to see others pleasure the Watcher, and then to give you the choice whether to take such an active role yourself.” He bent his head, brushed his lips over the furrowed brow of the man at his side. “Instead I was selfishly indulging my own desires. I failed you, Alistair. I am sorry.”

There was silence for a while, broken only by soft breathing and the affectionate stroking of hands on hair, or over thick fabric. Until Alistair shifted, propping himself up on one hand, his hazel eyes filled with bashful curiosity. “So, um, what was Nathaniel like?”

Zevran’s rich laugh tumbled forth. “Ah, trust me, _tesoro mio_ , you do not want to go there. Perhaps one day, hmm? But as my _schiavo_ , not his; that way I may offer you a little protection from his vicious cunning.”

“Ohhh, so he’s…?” Alistair rolled over on top of his lover, his chin propped on his hands and resting lightly on the knot of Zev’s robe. Curiosity had definitely won the day, his face was filled with it, and a wide smile brightened the room. “What did he do to you?”

Zev launched into a detailed and lurid description of his endurance test, glad to have the opportunity to distract Alistair from the less pleasant events of the evening. Halfway through, the door slammed open to admit Aedan, damp, ruffled and clad in a robe of his own.

“Alistair, I’m so sorry,” he burst out, looking distinctly wild-eyed. “I only just found out-”

“It’s fine, honestly, it’s done.” Alistair rolled off the bed, going to meet his other lover with his hands held out. “I’ll know better in future, right?”

Aedan took the proffered hands, pulling him into a hug. “No, it’s- I mean-” He pushed Alistair away a little, so he could look him in the eye. “There’s a messenger. He arrived ages ago; Varel didn’t know what to do, knowing he couldn’t interrupt you.” Aedan’s brown eyes were anxious, searching his best friend’s. “It’s your wife, Alistair; she’s gone into labour early.”

 

 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

 


End file.
